


Late Nights

by perseusjacksonjasongrace



Category: MAAS Sarah J. - Works, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex, crackships keep fandom alive, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perseusjacksonjasongrace/pseuds/perseusjacksonjasongrace
Summary: Lorcan Salvaterre has to work late to finish the nearly impossible project his boss has issued, and he is pissed about it. But a late night encounter may lift his spirits.
Relationships: Rowcan - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Late Nights

Lorcan Salvaterre wakes up in a bad mood. But more than that he wakes up alone. His lover had slipped away in the early hours of the morning, judging by the cold space and the distinct lack of clothes strewn across the room. In his abundant years of life he has seldom woken up by himself and on the mornings he does it’s an ache in his ribs. His friends would call it abandonment issues. His friends are dicks.

He glowers at the bathroom mirror, attempting to tame his knotted mop of midnight black hair, and when that doesn’t work he throws it up in a twisted knot, the little care he possessed disappearing. By the time he’s dressed for the day, his signature scowl is in place and he’s third cup of coffee has been downed. He adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, and hooks a blazer over his shoulder. With a final glance around his apartment he’s out the door and on his way to work.

The day doesn’t much improve, but at the very least he gets to drink the premium coffee.

“Lorcan, my office.”

Looking up at his boss, her raven hair swaying in time with her hips, he doesn’t bother with a reply instead shoving out from his chair and attempting to school his face into a neutral expression. He had learnt years ago that showing any emotion around Maeve would earn you nothing but trouble.

“Yes Boss,” He walks in shutting the door with a quiet click.

She doesn’t look up from her laptop, black nails clicking against the keyboard, “I need you to work on the Havilliard Project, and get it done by tomorrow morning. I have to present it to the board at 10 and you know how I feel about not meeting deadlines.”

He had a good mind to ask why she didn’t do it if she was so worried. Instead he nodded his agreement, “Anything else boss?”

“Call Whitethorn in when you leave.”

And with a wave of her hand he was dismissed.

“Boss,” He growls, as he shoves past Rowan Whitethorn’s desk.

The silver-haired, golden boy doesn’t react to his anger, doesn’t do anything except get up and disappear behind Maeve’s door. Lorcan wants to throw something across the room. It irks him to no end that Whitethorn doesn’t do anything. What kind of person doesn’t show any emotion besides mild amusement?

The day slowly drags on, sun slipping past his desk and disappearing behind the blackening sky. Perfect, at least something was as dark as his mood. The Havilliard Project, as Maeve so nicely calls it, is a pain in his ass. He doesn’t know how he got stuck with it but the entire team has jumped ship, refusing even to help him. So here he is, clock crawling towards six pm and he’s only half way done.

He vaguely hears the chorus of goodbyes as his coworkers slowly filter out, probably getting ready for the Thursday night party scene, so many of them frequented, or going home to their families. Elide he knows, is off tomorrow because she’s taking the weekend to visit her girlfriend across the country. She stops by his desk briefly and then practically skips away, happiness rolling off her. He’s jealous. He’s not sure if it’s because she gets to leave or it’s because she’s getting a holiday but he’s envious of her. It’s disgusting.

He glances at the desks next to him, noting their emptiness. Gavriel, as meticulous and decorated as ever, on his right, and Rowan, mostly neat but bland as plain bread. He shouldn’t talk though, his own desk is devoid of any personality besides a little axe paperweight Aelin got him as a gag gift a few birthdays ago.

Having a ninth cup of coffee is useless, eight is generally where it stops working, but he can’t help but need the bitter taste. Besides it’s a reason to get up and move. Just get out of the suffocating box for a little while. Minutes later, a steaming coffee in his hand, he settles back into his desk and resolves to finish this before midnight.

Some hours into a presentation, sky littered with stars and the moon gleaming through the floor to ceiling windows, a shuffling from behind him grabs his attention.

“Whitethorn?” He peers at his coworker, confusion blanketing his features, “What are you still doing here?”

“Working.”

“Gee thanks,” He rolled his eyes, “Thought maybe you were practicing for your mariachi band.” He swivels his chair, getting up to dispose of his mug in the sink.

“Shut up Salvaterre.”

“Make me Whitethorn,” He growls.

And in a split second his back is against the wall and forest green eyes are blazing.

“Wanna try that again?” Rowan breathes, noses brushing against each other.

Lorcan’s lips pull up in a smirk, “I said, Make. Me.”

The silver-haired male grins, slow and seductive, “You sure about that Salvaterre?”

“Try me Whitethorn.”

And then Rowan’s lips are on his and it’s like fire. Like heat and red and sin. Teeth and tongue and dominance. He groans as he feels a sharp sting on his bottom lip. Rowan takes the opportunity to push into him, hip to hip. He can feel the evidence of their arousal and its almost enough to end him. Hands, big and bruising, roam his body, catching on the contours of his body.

Rowan brushes a thumb across his teeth and then wraps a hand around his throat, pulls back slightly, green eyes sparking, “Next time Salvaterre,” He breathes, “It won’t be my kiss that shuts you up.”

“Can’t wait pretty boy.” He smiles, letting the devil show.

Pine eyes narrow in warning, “Fucking dick.”

Lorcan drags a hand down that lithe body and squeezes his ass, “See you at home babe.”

“Don’t forget to buy milk, prick.”

His boyfriend steps away, silver hair catching on the moonlight but Lorcan pulls him back and crashes their bodies together, “Warm the bed, tonight I want to hear you moan.”

And gods, did his name sound delicious falling from grace.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me your thoughts, beautiful human!


End file.
